In the Heat of the Moment
by Geckoguy555
Summary: A Resident Evil 4 story revolving around Leon's memories and Ashley's realization that hope, can indeed be found in the strangest of times. Possible twoshot. Rated 'T' for safety.


Alright, first Resident Evil fic, seeing as 4 was the first RE game I really got into I have a certain fondness of the Leon x Ashley couple, it's minor though and shouldn't detract from the point of the story.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own: CAPCOM, Resident Evil, or any of the characters involved in this story. **

For the hundredth time that week, Leon Scott Kennedy wondered what he had done to get himself into the friendliest little hellhole of a town in Spain. He and Ashley Graham had just escaped from the local cult's church, and were currently hiding out in an abandoned house.

"Leon! Help!" Came a cry from somewhere deeper in the house. Make that _formerly_ abandoned.

Leon sprinted from the living room, where he had been cleaning his recently purchased TMP, and heard a grunt from the kitchen. The house was shaped like an oversized 'E' with the bedroom and kitchen being on the upper tier, a family room in the second, and the sitting and dinning room on the bottom tier. Not exactly efficient from Leon's perspective, although he conceded that the arrangement _did_ have some perks. As the agent drew his reliable Kendo Custom handgun and flipped part of his hair away from his eyes he silently thanked whatever god had decided to allow parasites like this into existence, according to a diary he had found the people here were infected, not the reanimated corpses he and a certain Redfield had encountered in Raccoon City. Leon still remembered flinching as he disemboweled a fellow cop with a shotgun, only to have the body drag itself across the floor and attempt to bite his legs.

Infected were much easier to kill, Leon was freeing them in a sense. Not that he liked the sight of exploding heads or bodies that had more holes than Swiss cheese bored into them.

Ashley Graham had always thought she was self-reliant, emotionally strong, and capable of coping with almost anything. You had to be when you were the President of the United States of America's daughter, when your father received death-threats daily, and you understood that the world was almost always teetering on the brink of destruction through nuclear fire. But that was before she was kidnapped by a man whose face she never saw, injected with some parasitic egg, and put through hell and high water. She had once been Catholic, now she was beginning to doubt the idea of a loving and benevolent God; after all what holy being could allow for something of _this_ magnitude of evil to roam the Earth?

Now the girl had been hefted over the shoulder of some deranged looking villager who had been lurking in a pantry. As she screamed for Leon she silently wondered if death would be all that bad. Within two seconds of her shriek she heard the kitchen door slam against the opposing wall and two gunshots. The man crumpled and she slid off his shoulder and onto the filthy floor, almost instantly bouncing back up and sprinting over to her savior.

"Thank you, Leon." The girl murmured as she hugged him.

It really wasn't her fault that she was developing a crush on the man, after all she had been through almost three weeks of what would drive most people insane, only to have a knight in shining armor save and protect her. She knew that most of the therapists and councilors would say she suffered from a combination of post-traumatic-stress-disorder, an imagined attachment to her savior, and whatever unknown but still present effects of the 'Plagas' that she had dwelling inside of her. And besides, on rare occasions after the two suffered through the worst nightmares and she fell asleep clinging to his chest, she sometimes felt the agent return her hug. And for her that was enough to ensure that she kept as positive as possible.

**Yep, that's the end. For now at least, I might add another chapter seeing as this feels a little unfinished to me. **


End file.
